


Locum Tenens

by aishahiwatari



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Anal Sex, Canonical Character Death, Casual Sex, Endgame is McKirk, Flagrant disregard for timeline discrepancies, M/M, Optional Sex Chapter, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-08 03:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14095992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishahiwatari/pseuds/aishahiwatari
Summary: Even long after losing Hugh, Paul still struggles to resist handsome doctors with broad shoulders and gorgeous dark eyes.And if said Doctor happens to be pining after his blond-haired, blue-eyed best friend, well, maybe Paul can help him forget for an evening before giving him a shove in the right direction.Set some years after the events of Season 1.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, timeline here is intentionally vague, but set a few years after Discovery S1. I fully expect this to become an outrageous AU by the time we make it through S2. And I gave Paul a promotion because surely he will have earned one by this point.
> 
> Written because these boys are basically each other’s “type” and I just thought it would be cute to smoosh them together and see what happened. Endgame is McKirk because what else is there in life?

“Excuse me, Commander Stamets?”

Paul looks up from swilling the dregs left in his beer bottle to meet the eyes of a stranger in civilian clothing. He’s alone at a table in a bar, some nondescript basement that sells decent, non-replicated booze even if it is full of boisterous Starfleet cadets. A couple of them had nodded or smiled in his direction as he’d walked in, recognition from the talks he had been giving to the students at the Academy while the Discovery was in for repairs. Thankfully none had stopped to talk, had left him to his thoughts and silent contemplation.

He doesn’t recognise the man in front of him, though, and he feels like he would have noticed him even amidst a crowd of red-clad cadets. If he even is a cadet, given that he’s older than every other student by a few years at least, something in his eyes that speaks of experience and maybe loss. Or maybe Paul’s projecting.

The stranger is gorgeous, too, toned arms just straining at a dark green button-up, neatly styled dark hair and hazel eyes that make Paul’s heart clench with a moment of nostalgia before he swallows it down.

“Can I help you?” He asks, professional and steady. He notices too late that the man is holding two drinks, short glasses containing generous measures of amber liquid and his eyebrows shoot up without much input from his brain. It’s been a very long time since anybody has bought him a drink, and if this is indeed a cadet he’s got some serious balls to be approaching someone of his rank with such an offer, attractive or not. He’s about to decline, moderately politely, “Look, I-“

“That’s not what this is.”

He’s interrupted, though, and for a moment doesn’t know whether to feel irritated or embarrassed by the correction. He settles on both, knows his fair skin flushes but hopes the dim light will hide it, “Then what is it?”

The man shifts his stance, clearly deeply uncomfortable either with the sentiment he is about to express or the general atmosphere in which he has been received, but he takes a deep breath to steel himself and his hands are steady, “When I first joined Starfleet, I thought I’d made a mistake. Every class was God-awful, either completely baffling and alien- literally and figuratively- or so easy I could have tested out of it in my sleep. So I started looking at what would be my third year syllabus, some of the extra materials just to see what I was in for. I found some copies of lectures that were so different to everything I’d been taught. They were logical and thought-provoking and they actually made some goddamn sense. It got me looking into Starfleet’s research and all the breakthroughs that have come about because of them. So now, I know I’m in the right place.

“I’m not in your track, Commander. I’m in Medical. But those lectures by Doctor Culber made a huge difference to me. I heard what happened to him. And I just wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss. But I’m not too good with words, and I’m probably a little too good with bourbon, so-”

He holds out the drink, like an offering. Paul’s grief has swelled inside him to an almost unbearable level at the reminder of exactly how much he’s still missing, but there’s a part of him that’s grateful for the pain. It keeps him grounded, and if it also momentarily steals away his ability to speak, well, maybe that’s for the better. He nods at the seat opposite his, pushes the chair out a little with his foot and watches the stranger sink into it with visible relief.

When the lump in his throat has subsided, he asks, “You a doctor, Cadet?”

“Yeah, uh-“ the doctor rolls his eyes, apparently at himself, and finally hands over one of the drinks he’s been clutching with a grimace, “McCoy. Doctor Leonard McCoy.”

Paul takes the glass, a little warm from McCoy’s hand, and swirls the liquid, watching it shimmer. “Do you like what you do, Doctor?”

McCoy snorts impulsively, then seems to regret it with a flash of vague alarm and a glance in Paul’s direction. In response, and feeling inexplicably guilty for enjoying it, Paul regards him levelly.

“I wouldn’t say it’s something I like. There are times when I enjoy it. But mostly- it’s a compulsion. I have to do it. I can’t imagine doing anything else. Or letting anyone else take my place.”

Paul smiles. He’s met more than his fair share of doctors, enough to know when he’s speaking to a good one. And if his eyes are a little glossy as he raises his glass, well, that stays between him and Doctor McCoy, who is clearly far too uncomfortable to comment on it.

“To Hugh,” he says with loving memories, as they clink glasses and drink. Bourbon is not Paul’s drink of choice, but it goes down smoothly enough for him to know he’s been bought an expensive one. Doctor McCoy’s gaze drops to the table and Paul is ready to take a moment to study him when a flash of blue catches his eye.

Someone is watching them with an intent stare that’s trying too hard not to be a glare. Paul does his best to keep it in his peripheral, always aware of potential threats as Doctor McCoy meets his gaze again. Probably assessing whether he’s still welcome. The corner of Paul’s mouth twitches upwards.

“So will you be applying for a post on the new Enterprise, Doctor?”

 

Doctor McCoy is adorable. He’s an irascible, cantankerous marshmallow and Paul’s vague interest in him has sharpened over the course of three more drinks and their lengthy, intelligent conversation. He doesn’t think he’s been imagining the flickers of attraction he occasionally sees in the other man’s eyes, either, although he hasn’t quite decided whether he’s going to do anything about that yet.

They’re still being glared at, with varying intensity. So far, it’s been the most pronounced when Paul licked his lips free of lingering bourbon and Doctor McCoy actually stopped speaking mid-sentence for a moment. He’s planning on letting their fingers brush when he hands him the next drink, just to see if his friend’s head will explode. While he isn’t looking for anything serious, hardly seeking any sort of commitment even years after Hugh, the teasing is making him feel rather warm inside. And Doctor McCoy is very, very handsome to look at, even if it’s unlikely Paul will have the opportunity to do any more than-

Beneath their table, McCoy has hooked his ankle around Paul’s with no other evident change in posture. At a natural pause in their conversation, he’s gazing casually into the middle distance. His glass is empty. Paul makes sure his is, too.

“One more, Doctor?”

“Whatever you like, Commander.”

God, that Southern drawl is sending shivers up his spine. And back down again, “I think after three drinks, you can probably call me Paul. Don’t you?”

“There’re a few things I wouldn’t mind callin’ you.”

Two things happen, then. Paul lets out a gleeful bark of laughter, his eyes wide, and Leonard’s friend kicks out of his chair and leaves. His friend, who has blond hair a little darker than Paul’s and blue eyes a little brighter and who looks somewhat familiar now that Paul thinks about it. Leonard definitely notices, but very pointedly doesn’t look. So he has a type.

Well, so does Paul, and it isn’t all that easy to come by broad-shouldered, handsome doctors. Leonard’s friend can wait for one more night. Maybe this will even prompt him to say something about their clearly unresolved sexual tension. So really, Paul is helping them both.

Yup. He’s going to run with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A locum tenens is a temporary stand-in, often a doctor.
> 
> Skip to chapter 3 if you’re looking to avoid the explicit content and just get straight to the feelings.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would be the optional sex chapter... skip it if you are so inclined.

Paul’s allocated apartment isn’t far from the campus, and his initial offer had been for a fourth drink shared in the peace and quiet. The walk there, though, solidifies the crackling tension between them into something powerful and they’re barely through the front door before Paul’s pushed up against the back of it, Leonard’s body a warm and solid pressure against his chest. Strong arms are braced on either side of Paul’s head and he’s close enough to feel the heat of Leonard’s breath, coming fast and choppy. Paul’s is likely no better as he raises a hand to lift just the bottom of Leonard’s untucked shirt and brush the tips of his fingers against the heated skin he finds there. He’s been itching to touch for hours.

“We don’t have to do this,” Leonard reminds him, pulling back a little to look him in the eyes. Paul recognises the telltale Face of Doctorly Concern quickly enough to find it appealing rather than frustrating, unnecessary though it might be. There is something to be said for a true gentleman, after all. He is by no means completely well-adjusted after all he’s been through, and he has never risked a casual encounter with anybody so similar to his Hugh. It’s entirely possible that he might want to call a halt somewhere in the middle of proceedings.

“I want to,” he says, sees just a flash of a smile before his mouth is claimed hungrily. Somehow the bourbon they’ve shared tastes different on Leonard’s tongue as it slides against his. Leonard isn’t aggressive, but he definitely takes control and Paul is more than happy to give it to him for as long as it means the wet heat of their kiss can continue. He does push a little, tracing around Leonard’s waist with his fingers to the small of his back and bringing him in closer to a soft rumble of approval as their bodies collide, chest to hip.

Leonard is hot, clearly just one of those people who runs that way and the mere thought of the expanse of bare skin beneath his shirt is making Paul’s nerve endings sing in anticipation. From the bottom, he begins to unbutton Leonard’s shirt and is unable to prevent his own low groan as he exposes a flat, taut belly and defined pectorals, toned shoulders he skims his finger over as he pushes the shirt back and off.

Very obligingly, Leonard lowers his arms to throw his shirt aside and on his way back he grips Paul’s hips to press him back against the door, insinuating his thigh between Paul’s legs to keep him there. Paul is only too happy to stay, to go where he is placed, aroused by the loss of control just as acutely as he is by the sensation of Leonard’s tongue sliding past his lips. There’s no pressure to talk, to give orders or have answers. He has always enjoyed the subtle power of taking another man in his mouth and the persistent, demanding kiss fulfils his oral fixation in the same way.

He feels a little light headed, vaguely shrugs his uniform jacket off his shoulders and gasps for breath as they reluctantly separate for long enough for him to pull the undershirt over his head.

He doesn’t have to say anything when their chests collide, but somehow, “Fuck, yes,” escapes anyway before Leonard sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and sets warm, broad hands to exploring his torso. Fingernails graze his nipples, drag a slightly embarrassing whine from the back of his throat the first time and pull his back into an involuntary arch the second. Another pleased rumble he feels through his ribs all the way to his spine and then lower makes him reach out to Leonard’s waistband, yanking him in close.

He feels oversensitised, like Leonard is his network and he’s experiencing every aspect of him, each individual coarse hair rasping against his chest, his fingers tracing each rib and memorising their positions, building his world around them both in that moment. His eyes are closed, but he navigates by touch and sound, the scent that resonates deep within him, the triumph of having another man’s body taut and eager in his arms. He has missed this.

He had missed something else more.

Leonard’s thigh has been a not-unpleasant pressure on his steadily hardening cock, and he feels its absence keenly as he pushes at Leonard’s waistband instead, fumbling at his belt buckle. At his first frustrated grumble into Leonard’s mouth, he’s released only to have his neck peppered with kisses, all open-mouthed and punctuated with tongue and teeth.

“Damnit, help me,” Paul hisses, to warm breath and laughter buried in the crease beneath his jaw.

“Gotta tell me what you want, first, darlin’.”

There had been a prime retort on the tip of his tongue until that last word, that deep-voiced endearment full of promises that makes Paul’s knees go weak enough that he just pushes hard at Leonard’s chest and sinks to them. Leonard raises an eyebrow, expression one of pleased surprise despite his words, and Paul yanks his belt free of the buckle with renewed vigour.

“I want your cock in my mouth, and I want you to call me that again.”

Leonard’s hands join his on the button of his jeans then and, as Paul watches, he pulls the zipper down so slowly Paul can hear every individual divot slipping free. And fuck, he’s glad he’s watching because Leonard isn’t wearing underwear. He slips his jeans down over his hips and his cock springs free, thick and hard and swollen in a rush of clean, masculine scene that makes Paul’s mouth water.

The anticipation curls low in his gut as he leans in, pressing his lips to the crease between Leonard’s thigh and groin, just the faintest brush of blood-hot cock against his cheek. Leonard’s hips twitch slightly but his fingers are gentle as they come down to run through Paul’s hair. When Paul draws back and looks up at him, Leonard grunts like he’s been punched in the stomach.

“You have beautiful eyes, darlin’,” comes the soft, appreciative murmur. Paul leans into the touch of Leonard’s hand, gives him a lazy smile in response to the compliment he’s not entirely sure had been meant for him.

It’s freeing, almost. To know that neither of them are getting exactly what they want, but accepting it anyway. Like it’s not really him, like he has no reason to feel any shame about his own urges, his desperation to explore with his mouth.

So he tongues wetly at the heavy balls and feels no resistance, just loose, lightly fuzzed damp skin sliding through his awareness. He sucks one, and then another into his mouth with Leonard’s fingers tracing the shape of his skull, keeping him grounded, then presses a kiss just above them to the underside of Leonard’s fat, hard cock. He drags his lips upwards, savouring the dry, silky texture until he finds moisture, laps at the escaped droplets of pre-come and lets them explode, salty and bitter in his mouth.

“You really love this.” Leonard’s voice is breathy with disbelief, tinged with awe. Paul nods, eyes half-lidded and lazy before curling his tongue around the smooth head of Leonard’s cock and taking it in his mouth. In that moment, he’s unconcerned for Leonard’s pleasure. That’s purely incidental as he lets the edge between the head and the shaft just slide back and forth between his lips at every possible angle, suckling lightly and lapping at the beads of liquid leaking from the tip. It tastes good and feels better and he loses himself for a moment, recalled only by the brush of Leonard’s thumb against his eyelashes.

On his next push he swallows Leonard’s cock down deep and revels in the helpless groan that is his reward, the slide of veins and ridges past the barrier of his lips and then the back of his throat, restricting his breathing, pressing hard against the reflex to force out the intrusion. He might groan aloud, the vibrations in his throat making Leonard thrust slightly, hurriedly aborted but forcing his cock a fraction deeper. He’s ready and just swallows around it until Leonard clenches a fist in his hair to pull him back.

Paul can’t help but gaze up at him, beseeching. He wants Leonard to fuck his throat until he comes down it. His voice is wrecked when he makes the attempt to articulate that, but Leonard only traces his bottom lip with his thumb, smiles indulgently when Paul traps it between his teeth.

“As much as I would like that, sweetheart, because you worshiping my cock is about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, I would really love to fuck you.”

Paul lets his head drop back with a smile, just touches the door behind him, Fuck, they’re still on the doormat. “Bedroom?”

Leonard hauls him to his feet, wraps an arm around his waist and kisses him again. It takes Paul by surprise and it’s a moment before he realises Leonard is actively chasing the taste of himself on Paul’s tongue. It’s unspeakably sexy, Leonard’s hand working at Paul’s fly too, his discomfort almost forgotten until the reminder of his accumulated arousal seems to hit him all at once. The cool air against his damp cock makes him gasp and he kicks his boots off with Leonard’s warm hand wrapped around him.

It’s awkward and he almost laughs as they stumble into Paul’s bedroom, unable to keep their hands or mouths off each other for more than a moment until Leonard gives him a shove, sends him sprawling back on the thankfully double bed. He smirks in the face of Paul’s glare before his gaze drifts down, trailing over every inch of his exposed body. If Paul weren’t doing the same thing with what he considers the far better view, he might have taken a moment to feel self-conscious.

Instead, he licks his lips. Leonard is tall and broad with the perfect amount of dark hair spanning his chest and trailing down over a taut stomach. His thighs are strong, curving into a toned ass that Paul maybe tilts his head to better appreciate. When Leonard crawls on top of him to kiss him again- God, he loves kissing his man, so strong and soft, alternating between a gentle exploration and just tongue-fucking his mouth hard- he has the faintest flush on his cheeks and Paul grabs his ass to see it deepen.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Paul murmurs, and it’s true in all ways, the warmth of the body against his contrasted only by the cooling trails of fluid adorning their stomachs as they both grind and savour the friction, a slow build-up. Knowing what’s coming, Paul already feels empty, aching to be filled, and he throws an arm out towards the bedside table to knock two padds to the floor before he finds the lube. When he presses the tube into Leonard’s hand, he feels him smile into their kiss before he draws back to regard him with those hazel eyes, darkened by dilated pupils.

“You sure?” Leonard asks, although how anybody is supposed to decline such an offer with a broad hand smoothing up their inner thigh is beyond Paul. He spreads his legs wider in response, letting Leonard settle between them before he finds the words.

“Leonard, I am entirely sure I want you to fuck me into this mattress, preferably so hard I forget my own name.”

Leonard trails kisses along Paul’s jaw to his neck and sucks on his earlobe before rumbling, “You want my cock in that pretty pink hole of yours, darlin’?”

“Unh-“ Paul’s hips grind upwards into a disappointing lack of friction without input from any reasonable part of his brain, “Yes, God, yes. Surely you really don’t need to ask.”

“Maybe I just like to be sure.”

“Maybe I also have a big purple vibrator that’d do the job just as well as you.”

Leonard groans, long and low, into his ear, hitches one of Paul’s legs up with a big hand underneath his knee and guides his cock to Paul’s hole, pressing just slightly against the resistance of the muscles. Paul’s head falls back as he gasps, the exquisite stretch and pressure against sensitive nerve endings shooting straight to his cock, making it twitch. Okay, so there is maybe no toy in existence that can measure up to this, the unique heat and gentle give of thick hardness pressing into him. Even Leonard’s finger, pushing in with no lubrication but his own smeared pre-come makes him want to sob and beg for more.

He grinds down instead, trying to take it for himself but really he should have figured it out by this point. For some reason, for a man who is at least halfway gone for someone else, Leonard really seems to revel in their back and forth. It’s deeply flattering and endlessly frustrating. Paul maybe does sob, a little, before he can find the words to voice his objection.

“Fuck, McCoy, I’m not a blushing virgin here. Get your cock in me!”

Leonard presses his smile to the inside of Paul’s knee, but he does at least reach for the lube, “Kind of a bratty bottom, aren’t you?”

“Not fucking yet, I’m not.”

Leonard’s laugh is warm and a little sad, “You’re really somethin’, you know that, sweetheart?”

But he presses two fingers into Paul’s hole, stroking and stretching at his rim until Paul’s panting hard, his whole body falling limp with the effort it takes not to clench around him, to cling to his fingers and not let go. He’s flushed, he knows, probably all the way down, a curse of his fair skin but when he forces his eyes open, Leonard’s staring open-mouthed with something approaching reverence.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, “Blushin’ so pretty just for me.”

And then, with that unerring Doctors’ accuracy, he presses two fingers into Paul’s prostate and tears an animalistic groan from deep within his chest with the sheer sense of relief that floods through him. Paul’s back bows, his mouth hangs open and maybe there are tears in his eyes. Too soon, those fingers are pulled away and Paul whimpers at the loss, the open chasm left inside him.

“God, darlin’, I’m sorry, but I gotta be inside you right now. Gonna give you what you need.”

Fuck, the stretch hurts. It’s only the knowledge of what’s to come, of how that pain is going to morph into earth-shattering pleasure that allows Paul to breathe through it, to relax what matters and bare down and open his eyes because Leonard is still one of the most gorgeous men he’s ever seen. And he’s inside Paul, his cock so hard and unyielding, unapologetic as it splits him in two and keeps going, somehow. Somewhere beneath the pain, the agonising drag of silken skin wrapped around steel is just what he’s been craving, exactly what he needs.

Leonard is unfamiliar, but his cock is thick and it goes deep so it only takes a few experimental shifts of his hips- and the resulting, gratifying choked-off moans from Leonard don’t hurt either- before he can bring the head of it to stab briefly against his prostate. His muscles tense and tremble, Leonard’s cursing colourfully in his ear actually a soothing influence, keeping him grounded as he circles his hips to get the pressure where it’s needed.

“I’m hurting you, darlin’, we should stop.”

“No no no, I’m almost there, I swear, just fuck don’t stop please.”

And then Leonard’s merciful hand wraps around his cock and everything falls into place. Paul can push into that, ride the crest of the resulting pleasure before bearing back down, taking Leonard’s cock deep.

“Perfect.” His voice breaks halfway through the word.

Leonard murmurs something in his ear that sounds suspiciously like, “Yeah, you are,” before kissing him hard and beginning to roll his hips in time with the pull of his hand. It doesn’t take them long to find a rhythm together, Paul pushing his hips up to meet the long, slow thrusts. It’s not the pace he would have chosen, but somehow it fits between the two of them. It’s not like they’re exactly adhering to social convention for anything else, either, and Paul gets his fingers in sweat-damp hair and pulls Leonard closer to thank him for it .

It means the hand tugging at his cock has to stop, won’t fit between the crush of their bodies, but the friction against Leonard’s sweat-slick stomach is enough. Paul wants to focus on the sensation of Leonard’s cock sliding in and out of him, knows he can come from that if only Leonard has a little patience. And he thinks he does.

He certainly has a sense of what Paul’s craving. He’s braced above him, weight on one elbow. With Paul’s legs all but wrapped around his waist, he finds purchase with his other hand beneath Paul’s knee and pushes towards Paul’s chest. While he won’t bend as much as he used to, it’s the psychology of it that hits him hardest. The idea that he’s being held open, held down beneath this strong and gentle man is as intoxicating as the physical sensations. The muscles of his hole are stretched taut around Leonard’s cock as he strokes his insides impossibly deeper. When he clenches down so his body, already resisting Leonard's withdrawal, gets tighter, Leonard’s movement stutters and he growls. Actually growls, and Paul feels the vibrations all through his chest.

So he does it again. It gets him what he wants. Leonard shoves in hard, again and again, faster and faster, forcing breathless sobs from Paul’s throat with each well-aimed thrust, tension inexorably building until there is nothing left but the slap of skin, the ruthless, pounding stretch and the electric shocks of sensation shooting up Paul’s spine. He’d be driven higher up the bed if he hadn’t braced a hand against the headboard, pushing back so every rock of Leonard’s hips buries him deep.

It hurts, except it doesn’t, and Paul barely has to reach for it before he’s coming, driving his hips up for the delicious friction against Leonard’s stomach as his cock pulses between them. It’s accompanied by a long, shuddering groan into Leonard’s mouth, his body so lax in its desperate release that what they’re doing can’t really be called kissing. It’s just a clash of open mouths, the sharing of breath.

The slide of their movements slicked and stuttering, there’s no time for Paul’s come to even cool on his skin before Leonard is tensing in degrees, pressing deep and cursing a mess of syllables into his ear as his cock swells and spurts. Paul mewls softly at the sensation, loves the delicate pulse of fluid against his insides, hot and perfect, incomparably deep, Leonard’s lips just grazing his neck in wordless approval. Paul cards fingers through his hair, holds onto the moment as they just breathe, both happy enough with floating gradually back down to reality, unwilling to let go just yet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I feel like Paul would be as wonderfully snarky in sex as in everything else, and McCoy would be physically incapable of having sex with someone without falling a little bit in love with them. 
> 
> Stay tuned for Chapter 3 wherein there will be Actual Conversations about Feelings.


	3. Chapter 3

Of course, it’s not that simple. It’s only so long before Paul can no longer hold the gorgeous, haunting memories at bay. Leonard’s shoulders aren’t broad enough, his voice too deep. His murmured praise is lovely, but- he’s not him.

And suddenly Paul misses Hugh with everything he has, like there’s a black hole in his heart that’s going to consume him completely. He could be missing a limb and feel it less, can still see sparkling eyes and a smile that lights up a room. Lit. Past tense.

With a final chaste kiss, he releases Leonard. The emptiness sharpens as he slowly pulls out and Paul groans at the sensation, unspeakably grateful that Leonard does no more to reassure him than offer a soft smile and touch his fingers to Paul’s chest. He’s a good man, Paul knows as clearly as he does his network. He can see it panning out before him with the utmost certainty.

Leonard half-staggers off into the bathroom with an apologetic grimace and Paul manages a dazed and lazy wave back before his mind begins to work at parsing the jumbled sounds Leonard had gasped against his skin when he came.

Paul’s relaxed and post-coital, a little melancholic but satisfied when Leonard stands in the doorway to regard his wrecked and naked body. Good thing for him there’s no energy left for Paul’s self-consciousness, and he looks his fill despite there being myriad reasons for him not to, the significant age difference not the least of them. Clearly Leonard’s mind is elsewhere too, hardly surprising given their situation, but it makes Paul wonder about the depths of the emotions involved. He has been lovely to Paul, a man he only very recently met, so it was difficult to imagine how a singular loving relationship might channel that intensity.

A little sheepishly, which is frankly adorable, Leonard runs a hand through his hair and wrinkles his nose. “Why in the Hell did we think this would be a good idea?” He asks, gaze fond enough to belay any offence Paul might have considered taking. He’s feeling the same, after all.

“I have no clue.”

“I mean, it felt good at the time. You’re- gorgeous.”

Paul snorts unattractively at the compliment and flushes, vaguely aware from the way Leonard watches him that he believes he is proving his point. “Not so bad yourself.”

Leonard rolls his eyes and Paul’s glad he seems to have forgotten that he’s supposed to be feeling a least a little uncomfortable with Paul’s senior age and rank. It gives him the courage to ask the next question, as softly as he dares.

“Who’s Jim?”

Leonard looks horrified, instantly paling, must realise that there’s only one moment during which Paul could have picked up that name. “Jesus fucking Christ, tell me I didn’t.”

Well, Paul hadn’t outright been expecting to hear somebody else’s name, not that he was overly inclined to mind given his knowledge of their situation. Especially since, in amongst the tangled muttering he was sure his name had been there too. He smiles indulgently, hauls himself into a sitting position and attempts to ignore the disconcerting sensation of Leonard’s come threatening to trickle out of him. It doesn’t make for particularly sensible conversation, but Leonard returns to sit beside him and Paul’s feeling rather overprotective of this emotional mess of a man.

“Your friend from the bar?” He asks, and Leonard nods.

“You saw that, huh?”

“I saw he looked pretty jealous when he saw you with me.”

Leonard’s expression of despair shifts into one of such fragile hope that Paul’s heart breaks a little for him. He doesn’t miss those days of uncertainty, of having a love for someone that he felt could never possible be equalled by the recipient of such affection. But he does know what to say.

“Leonard,” he says, because this is important and he needs the man’s full attention, even reaches for his hand and holds it as Leonard stares at him, “You’re in Starfleet. You, or Jim, or both of you, you’re going into space. There are risks, every day, even where-“ his voice cracks but he won’t stop, won’t let himself be to blame for any more unnecessary loss. “Even where you feel the most safe. And you don’t strike me as the sort of man who can live with uncertainty. I promise you. There will come a time you’ll regret not knowing.”

Leonard wants to ask, he knows. He can see it in his eyes, but he lets his silence speak for itself.

And with a sigh, Leonard nods, “You’re right. No point in draggin’ it out any longer. I’ll go talk to him.”

He casts a eye around for his clothing, so Paul gives him a nudge.

“Probably shower first,” he prompts. If he can smell the sex on both of them, it’ll be impossible for Jim not to notice. Not exactly an auspicious beginning to a relationship, having someone else’s come drying on your skin.

“Uhh-“ Leonard begins, supremely awkward, so Paul takes mercy on him.

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

 

  
When Leonard returns, clean and dressed and still impossibly hot, Paul is sitting on the couch dressed in just a pair of distinctly non-regulation sweatpants, idly browsing on his padd. He had been exceptionally hospitable and collected their various strewn clothing, leaving Leonard’s out on the vaguely-made bed rather than forcing him to search for them half-naked. He’ll put the sheets in the recycler later, or maybe in the morning, depending on how badly he wants to spend the night savouring the evidence of somebody else in his bed. Just to get those urges out of his system for a while.

He smiles a little when Leonard openly appreciates the view of his bare chest, stands to meet him as he comes closer.

“Would it be weird if I kissed you goodbye?” Leonard asks, and Paul’s smile broadens.

“Incredibly,” he says, wraps a hand around the back of Leonard’s neck and draws him in anyway to kiss him soundly. It’s soft and slow, Leonard’s hands just resting gently on his waist, his hair damp between Paul’s fingers. They both draw back at the same miraculous moment and Paul pulls a card from his pocket, holding it out. His comm number is printed on it.

“Tell me know it goes.”

“Really?”

Paul generally tries to avoid other people’s drama, but he’s convinced these two will get their happy ending, “I want to know.”

Expression bemused but nodding, Leonard pockets the card, brushes his knuckles across Paul’s cheekbone and steps back, snapping to attention with a smirk. “Commander.”

“Cadet,” Paul snarks in response just to see Leonard’s eyebrow twitch. He doesn’t walk him out, just lets him go and settles on the couch again, something mindless on the holoscreen.

 

  
He wakes up to the beginnings of a hangover and a message on his comm that just says “Thank you”. He smiles through his first lecture and terrifies the cadets, who are all convinced it means something horrible is coming. Over lunch, Tilly comments on his “glow” with a smirk and makes Michael freeze with her fork halfway lifted to her mouth. She refuses to guess who it might be, despite Tilly’s best efforts to encourage the game, although Paul catches her assessing all of the cadets in his afternoon class. A couple of the ones she’s focusing on excuse themselves to the bathroom and don’t come back.

He doesn’t see Leonard, or Jim, before the Discovery is ready to depart, but it’s enough to know they’re happy, he thinks.

 

“I’m telling you, it’s not possible!”

“Well, I’m telling you it is. I’ve done it, hundreds of times.”

“By all rights, the ship should collapse in on itself from the pressure.”

“Well, it didn’t. Come on the Discovery. I’ll show you.”

“I’m not setting foot on that death trap.”

“Scotty.” Paul’s voice takes on a thrum of warning and Scotty wilts, all fight leaving him instantly.

“Shit. Sorry. One day I’ll stop putting my foot in my mouth. You alright?”

Paul nods, but makes no move to continue their half-serious and often-repeated argument, although it’s the first time they’ve been able to have it since Paul’s theories were actually proven. He just stares into the depths of the warp core until Scotty hip checks him.

“Can’t believe you didn’t tell me about your breakthrough right away, you arsehole.”

“There was a lot going on. And I- almost didn’t believe it myself. Please come and see it, Scotty. We’ll just take a trip over to Risa or something. I’ll have you back before dinner.”

Scotty snorts, “My Captain would kill me-“ Understandable, Paul thinks, before- “If I went without him.”

Paul laughs. Oh, how he hopes that’s true. It would indeed take a man of such recklessness and imagination to hire Scotty as his Chief Engineer. There had been many a time he had commed, only to despair at seeing his friend and former colleague stuck on that barren, deserted planet. He’d been tempted to hijack the Discovery more than a time or two, but to hear Scotty talk about his escapades, that just might have doomed Earth to total destruction at the hands of a megalomaniacal warlord.

So he’s glad he didn’t act, sometimes. It helps with the guilt, the knowledge that maybe his existing on some bizarre plane of existence saved him from doing something unintentionally terrible. Even though he has acutely missed having someone who sees the universe the same way he does, sometimes. Someone who’s as determined to push the limits as he is, without the flagrant thirst for power and disregard for ethics that so often accompanies knowledge.

“You hungry?” Scotty asks, then, his smile warm.

“I could eat,” he says, gesturing for the other man to lead the way. The Enterprise is just similar enough to the Discovery to create a false sense of familiarity, but Paul would be hopelessly lost without a guide.

When they walk into the Mess, they have to pass the tables to get to the counter. It’s still strange to see the red and gold shirts when Paul’s used to a sea of blue, but it certainly helps to pick the command crew out of a crowd. Scotty slows as they approach a gold shirt who has his head down, resting in a hand, scrolling through a padd with the other. It takes Paul a moment to see past the lightly muscled shoulders and artfully tousled hair to the Captain’s stripes. Captain Kirk, he remembers belatedly. Paul hadn’t thought he’d be so young.

“You alright, Captain?” Scotty greets him, moving into what would be his line of sight if he looked up.

“Just a sec, Scotty. I’m trying to find that regulation about the benefits to Officers’ mental health and the general running of the ship if a controlled level of fraternisation is allowed.”

Ah, that one. Paul knows it well, and with only a twinge of regret and grief, “It’s regulation one thirty seven subsection delta two. Hidden in a bunch of small print about housing.”

“Oh! Thanks-“ and then the Captain looks up and Paul could swear time stops- “Commander.”

Paul’s sure he’s at least stopped breathing, frozen in shock and something like fear because of course Captain Kirk is Jim, from all those years ago, and he outranks Paul now, and he is gorgeous. Those eyes, wide and reflecting Paul’s own shock back at him; the ridiculous cheekbones; the plump lips.

Captain Kirk swallows audibly and is the first to speak, without taking his eyes off Paul for an instant. “Hey Scotty, would you please do me a huge favour and get me a coffee?”

He knows. Of course he does. Paul has never felt particularly cowed by those of rank but Captain Kirk just has an air of authority and a thrumming energy. Like a caged animal. And he wants Paul alone.

In his peripheral, Paul notices Scotty’s eyes ticking to the full cup of steaming coffee not far from Captain Kirk’s right hand.

“Sure, Captain,” he agrees, though he’s tense, “Paul?”

Captain Kirk’s eyes narrow just a touch at the familiar address and it’s all Paul can do to reply without choking. He still hasn’t moved.

“Please,” he says, and Scotty backs away. Paul feels hysteria rising in his chest, doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or cry or vomit or maybe a combination of the three.

Very carefully, slowly and deliberately, Captain Kirk puts his padd aside and asks, “You seeing anyone at the moment?”

_What?_ “No, Captain.”

Captain Kirk smiles at that, broad and honest, “Oh, good. So I probably won’t get punched for this.”

In one fluid motion he stands, wraps his hands around the back of Paul’s neck and pulls him into a hard, chaste kiss. By the time Paul has even realised what’s happening, the Captain’s forward momentum has continued and it’s dissolved into a warm and solid hug.

“Thank you,” Captain Kirk whispers in his ear, clear despite the pounding of Paul’s heart because the room has fallen utterly silent. The relief is almost as overwhelming as the panic had been, and it takes him a moment to respond, relaxing in the pleasant sensations rather than anticipating a blow.

He raises a hand, lets it settle between Captain Kirk’s shoulder blades, “My pleasure, Captain.”

“Not anymore, though, right?” The Captain winks, is smiling and jovial as he sits, gesturing at the chair across from him so Paul sinks into it with relief, “I’ve wanted to do that for a while, ever since he told me- well. Who knows how long it might have taken us, without that push from you.”

Paul smiles, maybe a little indulgently, warmth suffusing through him as he’s faced with physical evidence, real proof of good work he has done, a difference he has made. He likes this man, appreciates his humour and charm. He’s glad he’s happy.

“I don't think you would have resisted for long.”

“And I think you underestimate how stubborn we are.” With a grimace, Captain Kirk turns to the cautiously approaching Scotty, “Oh, thanks. Have a seat, tell me what you two’ve been working on.”

If Scotty had looked uncomfortable before, he looks downright mortified now, shifting from foot to foot with two cups of coffee in hand. He sets them down, “Captain, I’d really rather not-“

“Commander Scott.” Captain Kirk’s voice carries an edge of warning that makes Scotty wince, “Sit down. I promise it’s fine. I want to hear what you’ve been doing. Any improvements to our efficiency?”

Scotty appears to resign himself to his fate more than actually believe him, but is soon distracted by talking about their progress. It’s a proper conversation, too, the Captain clearly knowledgeable enough to keep up with all but the most specific of terms and calculations. For the most part, Paul lets them speak, examining Captain Kirk who seems aware of the scrutiny but disinclined to do anything about it. He’s probably used to it. It’s almost more difficult not to pay attention to him. Certainly everybody else in the room seems to be doing it. He wonders if they’re expecting an explosion, whether they’ve seen many between the colliding stars of their Captain and the man he loves.

 

It takes Leonard about an hour to realise that something’s up in his Medbay. It hits him around the third time one of the nurses helping with inventory flees his office immediately after handing him something. He goes to stand in the doorway, watching their progress and noticing the nervous energy, hushed whispers and glances in his direction that are hurriedly aborted when they notice him standing there.

“Okay, what’s he done?” He asks, because it has to be Jim, and singles out the first person who’d run from him that day, “Ensign Carter?”

“Nothing, Sir!” Ensign Carter replies, too quickly, before correcting, “I mean- who? Sir.”

“God damnit,” Leonard storms back into his office and lets the door close behind him. “Computer. Locate Captain James Kirk.”

The reply makes him frown before, with a sigh and roll of his eyes, he declares he’s going on break and heads out in search.

 

“You’re alpha shift, right? How about dinner, tonight?”

Paul has to wonder about the Captain’s complete lack of regard for their audience. There is no possible way he hasn’t noticed that all conversation is hushed, every member of the crew within earshot desperately pretending not to listen. And Captain Kirk just regards him innocently, with those ridiculous eyes.

Scotty has long since made his escape, but it’s not like they’re doing anything wrong, at least. Paul nods before he speaks and cringes when some shocked Yeoman’s tray goes clattering to the floor. The Captain doesn’t even acknowledge the sound.

“Great,” is all he says, before he stands, “C’mon, there’s something I want to show you in my quarters.”

It’s a relief to follow Captain Kirk out into the hallway, walking swiftly and with purpose. Paul can’t help the chiding look he shoots across.

“You encourage them,” he says, and Captain Kirk wrinkles his nose, gleefully unrepentant.

“Ah, what’s a little harmless diversion? Sort of used to being a topic of discussion around here. Besides, it’ll throw them off the scent of what I’m really doing.”

Paul dreads to think, although he doesn’t have a chance to say so before they step into the turbolift already occupied by three crew members who were happily chatting away until the doors opened. The Captain greets them with a nod and a smile, while they stare openly at Paul until he shoots them individual venomous looks and then they shift uncomfortably. The same look has less of an effect on Captain Kirk, whose lips are twitching in a clear effort not to laugh. Paul really wants to hate him.

They step out of the lift on a residential floor, the doors spaced too far apart for them to be anything but Officers’ quarters. They don’t go very far before Captain Kirk finds the door he wants.

“Okay, this is what I wanted to show you,” he says and taps in a code with a surreptitious glance up and down the hallway before he steps inside.

Paul follows, casts a look around. There isn’t much in the room, and he’s surprised to see it isn’t a double-berth. Suitable for a Captain to sleep in, but not much else. And distinctly unlived-in, cushions on the couch perfectly arranged, a few gold-shirted uniforms hanging up, fresh from the laundry. Laundry! Paul can’t remember the last time he wore a uniform more than once.

“This is really your quarters,” he muses, mildly surprised, as the Captain rummages around in the bedroom, “I thought you were just saying that to throw off your crew.”

“Oh, that, too. Okay, you cannot tell a single soul about what I’m about to show you.”

Momentarily distracted by the sight of a couple of actual books on a shelf, Paul snorts, “Who in the known universe would I-“

Tell about anything, he had meant to say. They didn’t exactly run in the same social circles, with one notable exception. But the Captain has found what he’s looking for and his expression is cautiously expectant as he bites his lip, so what comes out instead is, “Oh, Captain.”

It makes the Captain grimace and correct him. “Jim.”

“Jim,” Paul repeats mindlessly, stepping in to take the small box from Jim’s hands, examining the ring within with his eyes threatening to water. It’s all he can do to offer a weak smile and murmur, “Well, of course I have to decline,” which at least makes Jim return the gesture. Jim. Fuck. How did he get here, to be having this conversation with the Captain of the Enterprise about a man they’ve both known intimately? It’s insane.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, as he hands it back, “When are you going to ask?”

Jim’s still staring at it when he answers, “I have no fucking clue. I’ve tried twice but things keep getting in the way. I don’t think he’s noticed. I just-“ he looks to Paul, and the anguish in his eyes is heartbreaking, “What if he says no?”

“He won’t.”

“You know he’s been married before?” Jim runs a hand through his hair and Paul shakes his head, although he’s not entirely surprised, “And it did not end well. I mean, like, putting-you-off-the-idea-for-life levels of not ending well. And he’s- God, you’ve seen him. Probably heard that ridiculous voice. It still makes my knees go weak.” Jim smiles, a little sadly, before his expression creases, “Did you know I died, once?”

“You mean your heart stopped?”

That’s not so unusual these days, with the advances in medical technology, Paul wants to say, but Jim shakes his head.

“No, it was- properly. For days. He dragged me back with some very ethically questionable science. Nearly lost everything. Told me it would have been worth it, even just to see me one last time before they shoved him in the brig. But that’s just it. I’m ready to do what I have to do, for his crew. I’d die to protect them, in a second if he were amongst them. Don’t you think he deserves better?”

He desperately wants Paul to say yes. They are the words of a man terrified of allowing himself happiness, a man completely immune to the suffering he might cause others by doing so. Paul’s heart clenches in sympathy, although that’s probably not entirely obvious from his words.

“Better than one of the best Captains- one of the best people Starfleet has ever seen? Jim. You know better that anyone that Leonard is not a man who will just put up with a situation. He knows all of those things about you. They’re part of the reason why he loves you.”

Jim looks doubtful, runs a hand through his hair, “You know he’s the reason I’m on this ship in the first place?”

Paul’s heard increasingly unlikely rumours over the years but it’s no surprise to learn that some of the ones scattered throughout the realms of possibility are true. They take on a slightly different tone when he realises Leonard is the insubordinate CMO everybody wants on their ship but knows they’ll never convince away from his Captain.

“I’d heard some things.”

“He never gave up on me. Not once. He has so much faith- in me and in humanity. He’s endlessly kind, and he thinks he hides it but he really doesn’t. He’s strong and he’s fragile and the only thing holding me together, some days. I feel like I could take on the world when I’m with him. Although he’d probably call me all sorts of names for trying. And then patch me up, good as new, only better, because I swear, every time he does it, I feel closer to being complete than I ever have. He’s my whole fucking universe. I can’t do any of this without him. But- what if he says no?”

“He won’t.”

The voice from the doorway startles them both, Paul looking up to meet Leonard’s eyes while Jim hangs his head and swears.

“Well, fuck.”

Paul grimaces, “Should I-“ he begins, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the door before he’s silenced by Leonard holding up a hand and turning his gaze on Jim. Paul sort of wants to run anyway, has no idea where to look or what to think about any of it.

“Well, what are you waiting for? You’ve done your pretty speech. Ask me,” Leonard says, as he takes a few steps further into the room.

It takes a moment for Jim to lose the tension in his frame, another for him to take a deep steadying breath, set his jaw and pull himself up straight. Activating Captain mode, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Those are still searching, and a little sad.

“Bones. Will you marry me?”

Leonard (or Bones, apparently, and doesn’t Paul have a few questions about that) smiles, slow and soft and real.

“Yeah, Jim. I will.”

And Paul maybe squeals a little although he’ll deny it later, clutches his hands to his chest before he catches himself and straightens, not that either of the other men are in any position to notice. As they should, they only have eyes for one another, and Jim slips the ring onto Leonard’s finger with shaking hands before they embrace. With their arms tight around each other, foreheads just touching, Leonard is murmuring quietly as he raises a hand to brush Jim’s cheek. Jim’s crying, Paul realises with a start, but with a kiss from Leonard he’s taking a deep breath and turning his head to meet Paul’s eyes over his shoulder.

“So, seven, at the Mess?”

It takes Paul a moment to realise that he still means dinner, and another to see that he is being summarily dismissed.

“Of course. Congratulations.”

Jim snorts at that, his voice still a little watery, “Just had to get in there first, didn’t you?”

There’s maybe a slight flush across Paul’s cheek when he considers the dual meaning of the comment. It deepens when he goes to leave and Leonard hauls him in with a hand on his arm to kiss his cheek.

“We’ll see you later,” he says.

Paul meets his warm eyes and Jim’s bloodshot ones, nods and goes. As the door hisses shut behind him, he frowns, looking both ways down the corridor. Where is he, again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I sort of have this headcanon where Paul and Scotty would be friends. Just think they could be two maverick engineers with ridiculous ideas about transportation theories together.
> 
> Also let’s pretend Paul is too busy with his research to ever have watched a news vid that would have allowed him to recognise Jim immediately. Yep. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.


End file.
